


Everyone Has Secrets

by Allie0963



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pain, Secrets, Self-Harm, please don’t read if this might have a negative effect on you, stay safe, trigger warning, tw: self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28132803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allie0963/pseuds/Allie0963
Summary: A collection of events in which the separate members of the BAU find out about your self harm.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	1. Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> ! Clearly a huge trigger warning !
> 
> To anyone who is having a rough time right now, you are so strong. 
> 
> I wrote this while I was going through some stuff, so the ideas and concepts are drawn from my own experiences.

Everyone has secrets. It’s the innate nature of humans to select a valuable piece of information and lock it up. Everyone has something that they’re too afraid to share. Red secrets that might stain their perfect reputations. White secrets that may coat one with the heavy weight of knowledge. Black secrets that will overtake everything. 

Some secrets have been buried so deep within the depths of one’s soul that they may simply never be found. Other secrets lie on the surface, quite visible if you know where to look and what to listen for. These are the most dangerous secrets. The keeper is screaming silently, wishing, wanting, them to be found, but no one hears their silent cries. 

Then again, is there really anything to be heard at all? 

Quiet secrets could tear the world apart. Quiet secrets could wreck a soul; damage someone beyond the point of repair. 

Any secret could do damage, really, but quiet secrets, just like quiet people, are the most dangerous. 

Secrets are meant to be kept. Afterall, they are secrets for a reason. But when they get out, they leave a path of destruction in their wake, weighing heavily on those who learned what they shouldn’t have. Secrets are psychological knives that bury deep into your heart and rip out what you once believed a person to be. 

Just like any human being, you had secrets. You had plenty of them. Enough red, white, and black secrets to cover yourself in blood and bury yourself in your grave. You had quiet secrets; secrets you wanted to be found, secrets that, if found, would destroy everything you’d built for yourself. 

This is the story of  _ your _ secrets, and how your friends came to learn of them. 


	2. Hotch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first chapter. There will be one chapter for each of the 7 main characters. This one is Hotch.
> 
> Also, sorry for any formatting or spelling mistakes, I didn’t really edit this and wrote it all in one go.

You had wanted to tell the team for a really long time. You really had  _ wanted _ to, but you simply  _ couldn’t _ . That is the predicament that secrets presented. You wanted, needed to tell them that you were, slipping, fading, falling, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t find the right words. There weren’t any words that brought your situation to justice. No words defended the fact that there were days where you lost hope. There were days you felt as if you had fallen to the bottom of the bottomless. There were days you  _ just couldn’t do it _ , so you did something else instead. 

The red lines left behind on your arms and thighs were evidence of your suffering. As you drew metal across skin, watching the blood seep from the marks, you felt a momentary wave of relief and then panic... but as soon as you pulled your sleeves down you were  _ fine, just tired _ . That’s what you told the team every single time. And they believed you. You didn’t have the heart to tell of them, no, I’m not okay. That, in your opinion, was the hardest thing to say. 

You weren’t ready to tell any of them. You had suffered many panic attacks thinking of the million ways they could react, how many things it could change. But there came a point in which you knew you had to tell someone. You couldn’t keep secrets forever, not when you work with profilers. You could twist secrets and lies but eventually, they would fracture, and everything you tried desperately to hold in would spill out. 

If anyone were to find out what you had done, Hotch would have to know, too. So you figured it best to tell him the truth. Well, part of it, at least. You weren’t quite ready to tell him everything, but you had to give him  _ something _ , some part of the story that would hide the truth for just a little bit longer. You’d spent a while thinking- what would be most believable. What would make up for your irritation, jumpiness, and behavior that matched the description of one who was quickly spiraling? 

You’d run out of time to think. Thinking could be your best friend or your worst enemy. Ideas were powerful, but sometimes, they did more harm than good. 

So there you were: standing in front of Hotch’s office, knowing you couldn’t back down now. The bull pen was empty, the agents having surrendered to the long night at least half an hour ago. Hotch was in his office, as usual, working on the endless stack of files. You knocked softly at the door. 

“Hi.” Your voice wavered and you felt your face heat up red. 

“Y/L/N,” Hotch greeted. “You haven’t gone home yet?” He checked his watch. “It’s getting late, you should go home.” 

“I... I wanted to talk to you about something.” You stepped over the threshold of the doorway. Hotch looked slightly confused, which you had expected, but he recovered quickly. 

“Of course, have a seat.” 

You closed the door softly and sat down in the waiting chair. 

“Is everything alright?” He stared at you as he stared at everybody. To the outside eye, his normal face would read as intimidating. It was barely a microscopic difference between his angry face and worried one, but it was a difference you, and the team, could pick up on. 

You cleared your throat slightly, searching for the right words. The most believable words. “I... think you’ve noticed that something’s been off the past few weeks.”  _ Off _ was the most ambiguous way of putting it, but Hotch got the message. 

He nodded slightly. “I noticed,” he affirmed. 

“It’s- it’s been pretty stressful lately-” god, you had to sell this. You had to give him  _ something _ to believe. “And... I thought it’d be good to tell you that my-” you paused again, hoping the hesitation wasn’t noticeable. “Anxiety,” you blurted, silently cursing yourself. “My anxiety has been getting worse again... it’s probably just because we’ve had an unusual amount of cases, bad ones... I thought I should let you know.” You rushed through your hasty explanation, worried he’d see through the lie, but his slight nod proved otherwise. 

“It’s been hard for all of us,” he said, eyes still reading some uncertainty. “Thank you for letting me know, and if you need anything... you should talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but... we’re all here” 

“I just wanted to tell you,” you added with a nod. “So there wasn’t any confusion in why I seemed...  _ different _ .” Damn it, you were over-selling it. He was a profiler. He knew. He definitely knew. 

“Of course. Have a good night.” 

You mumbled, “good night,” as you rushed from his office. It was done. There was an explanation, a false explanation, a cover story. Another mask to hide your secrets, another shadow that will fall over you. 

Shadows only last for a certain amount of time. Eventually, the sun moves, and the truth is revealed. Masks are the same. They fade away, they become chipped, dented. They start to fall... and beneath, the truth lies in wait, ready to ruin your perfect reputation. 


	3. JJ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here’s JJ. I’m planning for Morgan to be third, and I’m not sure who will be after that. 
> 
> Thanks to anyone who leaves kudos (or already has), I really appreciate it :)

JJ was the first one to wait for the shadows to move, to remove your mask when it began to chip. It wasn’t long after you’d told Hotch a version, a piece of your truth. You’d been quickly falling, washed away by a flood of hopelessness, lost in the middle of a desert, yearning for water as your face filled with tears that didn’t quench your thirst. . 

It was after a particularly difficult case that you found yourself in the bathroom of your shared hotel room, silent sobs escaping your lips. You wanted so badly for someone to notice that you were hurting, but you couldn’t ruin the reputation of perfection that preceded you. So you continued to lie. First to Hotch, and then to the team when you told them “I’m just tired,” and rushed off with no further explanation. 

You stared into the mirror, yet you barely recognized yourself. You were a hollow body, present  _ physically _ but empty mentally. You were held together by the weary strands of hope, telling yourself that if you fake it long enough, you’ll be okay. 

You knew that wasn’t true. You weren’t going to be okay, but you had to try. The moment you opened the door, you had to be okay. It would be a different story if someone else opened the door before you could hide beneath your mask, held up straight by false hope. 

The blade that hovered over your forearm froze, perched between shaking fingers, when you heard a soft knock on the door. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” 

You sighed. If it weren’t for budget cuts, you and JJ wouldn’t be sharing a room, and you wouldn’t be stuck in this predicament: at a loss for words, scrambling to dry the blood and tears, frantically searching for your costume, that one labeled  _ I’m fine _ . 

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah,” you finally mumbled, finding your voice strained from crying. “I’m okay.” That was probably the furthest thing from the truth at that moment, but it was the only acceptable answer to that question. 

You grew dizzy, the blade in your hand clattering to the counter, a shaky breath escaped from your lips. It was your weak attempt to stabilize your spinning world.  _ This was not happening _ , you told yourself,  _ not here. Not now.  _

“Y/N?” JJ knocked again, pulling you back to reality. “Can I come in?” 

_ Don’t come in _ , you thought.  _ It’ll ruin everything I’ve tried so hard to hide. _ Blood seeped from the freshest cuts. There was no hiding that. You didn’t even know why you did it. Ever since you’d decided to stop caring, to stop feeling, a growing numbness had replaced all emotion, and now, whenever you saw others in pain, you thought it only fair that you experienced the same. Of course, you couldn’t tell the others. You were always supposed to be okay. So you made it seem that way. Oh, if only you had known how easy it would be to plaster on a smile and laugh at jokes that weren’t even funny. 

You glanced back at the door, knowing that you’d taken too long to respond. JJ had to know something was wrong. Silence told more than words did. The deepest secrets were rooted in silence. She couldn’t see you, she couldn’t profile your body language, but she could certainly read your hesitation, and possibly your rapid breaths. 

If you didn’t at least acknowledge the fact that something wasn’t okay (much like you had with Hotch), JJ was going to make it her life’s work to figure out the truth. The  _ real _ truth, and all of it, too. 

You’d known one of them was going to find out eventually. Hell, for weeks, you’d been silently screaming, yelling at them, wanting them to realize that you were slipping, fading away. But no one had heard anything, if there had really been anything to hear. 

Out of the six others on the team, you would have preferred it to be JJ who found out, much as it was about to be. Maybe it was because of her sister, but that thought served as a painful reminder that you didn’t want to put her through the same thing twice. But then again, maybe she’d understand your desperation. Maybe she wouldn’t freak out. Maybe.  _ Maybe _ . 

You reached for the door handle.  _ This was it _ . This was the moment you removed your mask and fell from your broken throne. This was the moment she would see the horrible truth, instead of your beautiful, perfectly sculpted lies. The lock clicked. Not only did you unlock the door, you also unlocked a part of yourself that you had hidden away for years. This was the first time anyone was going to see even a fraction of the truth.

You hugged your arms close to you, attempting to hide the damage you had done as JJ opened the door, her blue eyes filled with insurmountable fear... panic, even. 

“Y/N.” Your name escaped as barely a puff of air. Silence settled around you. It was as if you could  _ hear _ your own pounding heart. JJ’s eyes flicked from your arm, to the counter, and back again. “What happened?” she finally asked, knowing the answer to  _ are you okay _ was self explanatory. 

You wanted to run. You wanted to disintegrate. You wanted to  _ stop _ existing in that moment, but there was no escaping it. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing away another wave of dizziness accompanied by a rush of anxious thoughts. JJ’s warm hand rested on top of yours, pulling it away from your body. You extended your arm, turning your palm up. 

There was a moment of hesitation from both of you. JJ struggled to find words, and you contemplated yanking your arm back, and pretending that this never happened. 

“Did-” she started quietly. “Did you cut yourself?”

You took a sudden interest in the tiles on the floor, not bothering to answer the question, as she clearly already knew. JJ gave you a knowing, fearful look, and a small sob escaped your lips, accompanied by a fresh stream of tears. You could feel JJ watching you, her hand desperately clenching yours. 

You sniffled. “I’m sorry.” 

“Y/N-” 

“I don’t want to put you through the same thing twice. You don’t deserve that.” 

JJ’s face softened. “Sit down,” she told you. 

“What?” 

JJ took her free hand and placed it under your chin, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet your eye. She nodded towards the edge of the bathtub. “Sit down. I’m going to clean your arm.” 

You sank onto the edge as JJ grabbed the first aid kit from the wall. You both sat in silence as she wiped your arm and her nimble fingers wrapped white bandages around the marks. 

“Sweetie,” she started, pulling you into a one armed hug. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help you, okay?

You nodded against her shoulder, sinking into her warm side. Her hand traced across the fresh wrapping. “Does anyone else know?” 

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” Your voice cracked and you started to cry again. You were  _ so _ scared. Why wasn she mad? Why wasn she yelling at you? God, why was she so damn  _ perfect _ ?

“Look at me,” she softly requested, leaning back so she could see your face. “We’re going to talk about it at some point, right?” 

You met her gaze. You couldn’t exactly read the emotion behind them, but it wasn’t anything good. She was taking it well, you reminded yourself, it couldn’t get that much worse. “Yes, we’ll talk about it,” you agreed. It had to happen at some point. Neither of you could just ignore this. When secrets are spilled you can’t ignore them because they start to stain things. They spread like wildfire, taking down everyone and everything around them. They wreak havoc that cannot be contained unless dealt with from the beginning. 

JJ squeezed your hand gently, pulling you from your thoughts. “I love you, you know that? And I’m going to do everything I can to help you because I don’t want to lose you.” 

You leaned into her again, hugging her tightly. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

“Always.” 


	4. Morgan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why, but I feel like Morgan would be the one who thinks he’s helping by telling someone to stop. 
> 
> Again, trigger warning for self harm. 
> 
> Sorry for the weird formatting, I’m posting from my phone and it likes to mess up the indentations and stuff.

Secrets, in the hands of the right people, can be contained. Their stains can be washed away, and instead of being secrets, they become a piece of you that doesn’t need to hide. 

You were glad that JJ had been the first one to find out. Maybe it was because she was one of  _ those _ secret keepers, the kind that had dealt with so many fragile hearts that they knew  _ exactly _ how to treat this precious information. You knew she wouldn’t tell anyone, and she would love you anyway. She was one of those people that wouldn’t treat you differently no matter what happened, although, for the past few weeks, you could feel her lingering eyes, checking to make sure you were okay.

JJ was like an older sister to you, and you knew she was only there to help. The only problem? Just because she knew how to keep secrets, how to hold them carefully so they don’t break- doesn’t mean that other people can’t read  _ her _ . They may not be able to read you and your secrets, but what you told JJ... that was  _ her _ secret now. Someone else was going to find out. How long could you wear long sleeves in summer, when you were the one to point out how hot it was? How long could you act like JJ wasn’t hovering over you for just a second too long? You worked with profilers. Very few secrets, specific types of secrets, could be kept. Profilers dealt with many secrets. They knew how to protect themselves, and others, from the havoc that would be wreaked... but your secret? There was no telling how they would react. 

You were grateful that JJ cared so much, but her behavior, if not yours, was a telltale sign that something wasn’t right. And the others were beginning to pick up on it. You could feel eyes on you as you walked into the conference room of yet another small police station. The team had been called away on an impromptu case. Stress levels were high, and the consumption of large amounts of coffee wasn’t helping. 

“What were you and JJ talking about?” 

Your eyes snapped to Morgan, who was looking between you and the door. It was just the two of you in the room. The others were split between the crime scenes and ME’s office. 

“Nothing much,” you replied with a shrug, clicking your pen a few times, a nervous tick of yours. 

“You’ve been talking about _nothing_ _much_ for a while,” Morgan teased. “Something going on between you two?” 

Your face flushed a deep red color. “No!” you exclaimed. “Not like that!” 

He let out a loud laugh. “You were oftly quick to deny that, Y/L/N.” 

“Seriously,” you deadpanned as you crossed your arms across your chest defensively. “It’s nothing.” 

“My profiling senses say otherwise.” 

“I thought we agreed that there was no profiling each other!” you exclaimed, letting out a frustrated sigh. Morgan knew exactly how to press everyone’s buttons, and you were  _ not _ having it today. 

“I dunno,” he said. “With the amount of time JJ’s spends looking worried, I’d say she’s profiling  _ you _ . Don’t you have a problem with that?” 

You gritted your teeth. He was not going to find out like this. Besides, JJ had a reason to be profiling you, but it’s not like you could Morgan that. “No, I don’t,” you said. 

He rolled his eyes in a teasing manner and gave your arm a nudge. “And why is-” he paused when you jerked your arm away, an instinctual response, and held it close to you. “What was that for?” There was only sincerity in his voice, but you were not ready to have that conversation. 

“I… uh-” you cleared your throat. “I don’t like being touched.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” your voice cracked, your heart jumping into your throat. 

A moment of silence settled in the conference room before Morgan asked, “babygirl, can I see your arm?” 

“No.” Tears were pricking in the corners of your eyes, a dead giveaway that Morgan had struck close to home. Tears spilled secrets in a painful way because you didn’t want to cry, but your body was screaming to spit the secret out. 

“You knew we were going to Florida,” he pointed out. “And you're in long sleeves.” 

You shook your head, silently begging him not to do this. Not now, not here. 

“Look,” you said. “I’m figuring it out with JJ.” 

“Let me see,” he said again, and it was clear you weren’t walking out of this room without revealing what you were hiding. 

“Why?” Your hands danced around the edges of your cuffed button-up shirt, torn between the two sides of this argument. You could walk out of here, arms hidden, but Morgan would know anyway. Or, you could roll up your sleeves, spill your secrets, and enlighten Morgan with knowing the burden of the severity of your situation. 

“I want to know,” he started quietly. “I want you to be okay.” 

You swallowed heavily.  _ What the hell _ ? You thought.  _ How much worse could this get _ . The answer to that was, apparently, a lot worse. 

You stuck your right arm out knowing it was in better shape than your left. Less marks, further along in the healing process. Morgan rolled up your sleeve and scanned over your forearm, his forehead creased with worry. 

“Sunshine,” he whispered, eyes fixated on your self-inflicted damage, “you can’t do that to yourself.” 

“Really?” you scoffed sarcastically. “That’s your response?” 

His head snapped up, meeting your burning glare. “Promise me you’ll stop.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Like guilt tripping me is going to help the issue!” 

As previously said… secrets in the hands of right people can be contained. In the hands of the wrong people… they get twisted, they hurt more people than they need to, and they begin to eat away at the inside of the keeper. 

“I’m not guilt-” 

“You are,” you interrupted, standing up. “Just… just leave it alone, okay?” 

“I’m not gonna leave it if you’re cutting yourself! It’s not a healthy coping mechanism.” 

“It’s better than murdering people!” You pointed at the timeline, strewn with pictures of dead people. “I could’ve done that, instead!” 

Morgan was staring at you, mouth open, no response to what you had said. It was true, hurting yourself had been the alternative to hurting others. Instead of cutting yourself off from contact, eliminating your friends, hurting others, you hurt yourself. 

By the time you’d burst from the conference room, your anger had dissipated, and been overtaken by the wave of emotion locked up inside you. Tears ran down your flushed cheeks and your arms began to shake as you pulled your phone out. Thank god you didn’t have access to anything sharp because it was moments like this that made you want to lock yourself in a bathroom and just watch the way blood trickled down your arm. 

“JJ,” you muttered. “Where the hell are you?” She wasn’t answering her phone… she wasn’t answering the damn phone. She- you turned the corner, and ran into a swiftly moving human. 

“Oh, hey,” the blonde said with a cheery smile. Her face fell quickly when she noticed you tear-stained cheeks. “What’s wrong?” Her arms were gripping your shaking shoulders, and you were fighting to get the words out. You shook your head insistently, motioning towards the bathroom. 

JJ trailed after you, glancing around to make sure no one was near. When the bathroom door closed, she was the first to speak. “Sweetie, what’s going on?” 

“Morgan knows,” you choked out. “I didn’t want him to know but he knows.” 

“Okay,” JJ nodded, giving you an affirming squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“It’s not!” you jerked away from her grasp, angrily wiping at your face. “He didn’t take it well and I just feel like I fucked everything up.” Your breathing was growing more erratic, a tightness pulling at your chest. 

“Calm down,” JJ warned softly. “He just wants to help you.” 

“Guilt tripping isn’t helping.” You slammed your head against the wall, sinking to the ground. JJ sat down next to you. The damage was already done. Your poisonous secret had begun to spread. 

“How long has it been?” JJ's voice had softened in an attempt to soothe you. 

“3 days,” you croaked. 

She rubbed your knee gently. “I’m proud of you, do you know that?” 

“Why?” Why would she be proud of you? You’re the one who decided drawing a blade across your forearms any time you felt the wrong emotion was a good idea. Everyone else was perfectly healthy, perfectly capable of dealing with this job, but you weren’t. 

“I’m proud that you’re still going,” JJ told you. “And I’m proud that you found me instead of doing something else.” 

_ Something else _ . You’d been doing a lot of  _ that _ lately. 

“But Morgan knows,” you whimpered. “I don’t want him to know. 

“It shouldn’t matter that he knows. You and I are gonna keep working things out together, okay? Maybe I could talk to him, would that make you feel better?” 

You shook your head. “You need to stop doing things on my behalf.” 

JJ leaned her head against your shoulder. “I care about you,” she said. “That’s why I do things for you.” 

JJ knew the weight of secrets, their path of damage. She knew how to contain them, how to hold them close, how to stop them from shattering and leaving you covered in scars. You trusted her with your secrets because she knew how to handle them. 

Now you had to deal with someone who didn’t quite get that just  _ knowing _ can make things a whole lot worse. 


	5. Rossi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, please heed the TW. 
> 
> I’ve been slow to update this, which is a good thing because I’d only been writing it has a coping mechanism. 
> 
> Here’s Rossi’s chapter.

You should have been used to sharing things you didn’t want to. Three people already knew your worst secret, or part of it, at least, and only one knew how to contain it. When it came to quiet secrets, you figured it made sense that a profiler had heard it. Maybe silent screams weren’t so silent after all. You just had to know what to listen for. 

Maybe Morgan’s insistence on checking in with you had been the dead giveaway, more so than JJ’s private conversations. Or maybe it had been the way  _ you _ were behaving: tugging your dark sleeves down, hiding your arms in the peak of summer, not letting anyone get too close to you, for the fear that  _ might _ be able to see through your clothing. It wasn’t reasonable, you knew that, but sometimes your mind couldn’t help spinning away. 

It was a quiet Tuesday morning. You weren’t on any case, which was a surprise because summer seemed to be the peak for murders and kidnappings. The team had been gathered in the conference room, simultaneously working on a number of cold case files when you caught Rossi looking at you, his expression clearly reading that he was worried. 

You immediately jumped to the worst, wondering if you were hallucinating, and you were, in fact, wearing a t-shirt. But you weren’t. 

“What?” you finally asked, hoping the crack in your voice wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were hiding something. You could feel the destruction of your secrets weighing on you. It was eating you away from the inside, having to smile and say you were okay, when you really weren’t. You wanted to share them, to lift this burden from you, and stop the worrying glances and suspicious guesses, but you couldn’t let this stain everyone’s reputations. 

“I’ve just been wondering,” Rossi finally replied. “You’ve seemed different.” 

_ Different _ . No, this is how you’ve always been. You’ve just gotten worse at hiding it. When you first hold a five pound weight, it feels light, like nothing, but as time goes on you get tired and it starts to feel heavier, and heavier, and eventually, you drop it. Maybe it shatters, splintering, impaling anyone in a certain radius. Maybe it holds, denting. Either way, you can’t keep it in forever. 

“Different?” you questioned. “That isn’t very reassuring.” 

Rossi leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. “You know, I’ve been in the bureau long enough to recognize behaviors like yours.” 

__ _ Well, shit _ . The way he was dancing around the details was anything but comforting. You could feel your heart rate slowly picking up, pounding in the soles of your feet. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve seen it in agents who blame themselves for  _ this _ ,” he reasoned. “And I’ve seen it in the smartest, strongest agents I know, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

You stared at him, your silence echoing a thousand questions. 

“This job is damn hard, and if you’re struggling, I get that, but kiddo, you don’t have to do this alone, okay?” 

Well, that was certainly not the reaction you were expecting. “How-” 

“I’ve seen it before,” he said again. “It’s not as uncommon as you’d think, and it’s in the ones like you. The quiet ones who are scared they are a burden. You’re not, kid. Really. We all love you.” 

“Th- thank you,” you muttered, face flushing red. He hadn’t yelled at you. Or guilt tripped you. You still felt as if you owed some explanation. You always did. You can’t let something out that holds that much power to tear you apart and  _ not _ explain anything. “I’m working on it... with JJ.” 

“I know. She’s doing a good job with you, and she’s handling it well.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “She’s really good.” 

“I’ve found a lot of people don’t know how to handle it because they don’t understand things like that. I’ll be honest, I don’t, but I know how to react.” 

You smiled. “You certainly do.” 

“It’s all in the observations.” Rossi tapped his head. “It comes with practice and age.” 

“Age,” you joked. “Yeah.” 

So, another person knew. At least, you were pretty sure Rossi did. He’d never explicitly said so, but it was obvious enough. You were stuck with one thought, wondering how long it would be before the five pounds became too heavy, before it became too much and the weight of your secret would shatter something, scarring you and those around you. You had scars, they all told stories, but you weren’t sure how many more you could handle. 

Only time would tell. 

. . .

You told JJ that night, softly admitting over the phone that Rossi had figured it out. You’d been able to hold in the effects of your shaking arms and racing heart until you got home, but by the time you stuttered out the words, you were crying, and JJ was doing her best to keep you on the phone. 

You so badly wanted to hang up, lock yourself in the bathroom, and draw beautiful red lines with the silver pen, but the way JJ’s voice was smoothly entering you ear, telling you that everything was going to be okay (even though you were sure she was lying), was keeping you rooted in place. 

God, you hated secrets. They hurt so fucking bad. You didn’t know how JJ did it. How she managed to keep everything perfect, everything in control, everything rooted in place. She didn’t let anything slip, or spill, or break. She held everything together. And god, she was so strong and you were  _ so damn _ weak. 

“JJ,” you finally choked out, cutting off her monologue. “I can’t do this.” 

She fell silent on the other end of the line. “Are- are you okay?” There was a clear answer to that, but you knew what she was implying. 

“No.” 

“Do you feel safe?” 

You sniffled, a sob bursting from your throat. 

“I’m going to come over, Y/N, just hang on, okay?” She talked to you softly the whole time she drove. She already had a key, so she slipped silently into the apartment, tossing her phone on the couch and pulling you into a hug. You sat together, silently, weighing the effects of what you were holding onto, determining how much longer you could keep doing this. 

“I’m here for you, sweetie,” she mumbled, as she squeezed your shoulder. “And everyone else is, too, even if they don’t know how to address this.” 

“I know they care,” you croaked. “They just don’t know how to show it.” 

JJ rubbed your back, her hand moving in small circles. “Exactly.” 

You exhaled slowly, sinking against her. For now, you were okay. Everything was far from perfect, but at least it was okay


	6. Emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda don’t like this one, but here it is.

Your secrets had felt particularly heavy the past few weeks. There were too many lingering eyes, too many people feeling the burning effects of such a secret. You hadn’t been sleeping and that, too, was weighing on you. You had lost your escape, your sanctuary, from reality. There was no safe place. It was all just, dark, heavy, red. 

It was only going to take so long before you lost it. Lost the ability to hold in your secrets, to control them, to stop the spread of their damage. Every eye that bore into the back of your head wore down another layer of protection. And the profilers- they were starting to notice. 

Of course, those who didn’t know the truth were the most worried. Obscurity is a worrying thing, afterall. Emily, as you knew her, hated not knowing, so of course it was natural for her to question you. When she would figure it, you didn’t know, but it was bound to happen eventually. 

The first time she could no longer hide her curiosity, you were having a particularly bad day. Derek had questioned the way you were tugging on your sleeves, and Hotch had suggested that you take a few days off, but you knew locking yourself in your apartment would end terribly. 

You were frustrated, exhausted, and frankly  _ done _ with fighting against your secret. It wasn’t much of a secret anymore. The majority of the team knew, and knowing that they knew was hurting you. You  _ hated _ knowing that they pitied you and thought you were weak. At least Emily, and Reid, and Garcia still treated you the same, although Emily’s behavior was starting to slip. 

It made sense, seeing as she was the most socially aware of the three who had yet to discover the horrible truth about you. Garcia would notice if someone was crying and know what to do. Reid... probably would notice and offer a small smile, unsure of how to respond. Emily would always notice before... which is why she was starting to pick up on how you were acting. 

You glanced up from the file you were working on, already skeptical of the brunette’s expression. “What?” you question. 

She glanced around, making sure you were the only two in earshot. “Have you been okay lately?” 

You blinked, trying to control your microexpressions because you knew you the slightest twitch would spell out the whole story for Emily to read like an open book. “Yeah.” 

“Y/N,” she sighed. “I can tell something’s been bothering you. You’ve been nervous and jumpy, and I swear, I’ve never seen JJ look so concerned and that’s saying something because-” 

“Emily!” 

She stopped mid sentence, knowing your aggressive outburst was only an emotional defense mechanism. 

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “Okay?” 

She nodded slowly, both of you aware you were lying. Seeing as she was someone who hated opening up, she probably understood. You offered her a nod and a smile, turning back to your work. You knew it would only be so long before you slipped up around her, or broke entirely, shattering into pieces of the floor, left behind for your friends to sweep up. 

. . .

You had been right. It wasn’t long. In fact, it only took two days. You don’t know what had triggered the wave of panic. Maybe it had been the insistant check-ins, provided by your teammates sharing the burden of your struggles. Maybe it had been the death. You couldn’t always deal with this job, which was, of course, a large contribution to your self-harm. 

You had escaped the bull-pen, making a beeline for the bathroom as the world began to spin around you with your chest tightening and arms shaking. The bathroom was bright, but there wasn’t much you could do to change that, so you drew in a shaky breath, and squeezed your eyes shut as you turned on the faucet, letting cool water run over your scarred wrists. 

It burned, but it kept you grounded. It kept your mind in the present, stopping you from floating away into panicked  _ what-ifs _ and  _ if onlys _ . 

Your head snapped up when the door creaked open, causing your heart to jump into your throat. You slammed the faucet off and yanked your sleeves down as you wiped your cheeks with your free hand, although it barely did anything to hide the redness in your eyes. 

“Y/N,” Emily whispered as she hesitantly approached you, clearly aware that something was majorly wrong. “Talk to me. What is going on?”

You weighed your options quickly. There was no escaping this situation, but was it really best to be honest? The panic in your chest was tightening. A small whimper escaped your lips as you fell against Emily’s shoulder, searching for any sign of non-verbal comfort. You’d never been one for physical contact, so it only made it more apparent you were being torn apart from the inside. 

Emily wrapped her arms around you and pulled you closer. “I’ve got you,” she mumbled against your head. “It’s going to be okay.” 

You had to tell her. You had to tell her something. You had to offer her some explanation or reason as to why you were sobbing onto your friend’s shoulder in the middle of a bathroom on a random Thursday. There was no (good) excuse for that. 

God, this is what you hated about secrets. Spilling them broke you. They came from your throat wielding knives, leaving your throat raw and sore and your lungs screaming in pain. 

“Talk to me, sweetie,” Emily coaxed, pulling away from the hug so she could look into your teary eyes. “I want to know what’s making you hurt like this. I want to help.” 

She cared, she cared so much, and you knew that. But you didn’t want to hurt her or burden her with this. You had seen the effects on JJ, the constant crease in her forehead when she studied you. Hotch and Rossi’s eyes lingered too long, and Morgan wouldn’t lay off it. This was destroying everything you had, and you didn’t want it to spread to Emily. 

Your teeth sank into your lower lip as a desperate attempt to remain calm. There was no need to have a panic attack, you reminded herself. She was only here to help. 

“I-” you started. “I’m sorry.” 

Emily furrowed her eyebrows. “What? What are you sorry for?” 

“I’m just tired,” you mumbled, tears returning to your eyes. “I’m really fucking tired.” 

Emily gently rested her hands on your upper arms, keeping you in front of her. “Have you been sleeping?” 

You sighed. Not  _ that _ type of tired. You were tired of being in pain. Tired of waking up to the same ominous thoughts every day. Tired of existing. 

“I’ve been sleeping,” you confirmed, not able to bring yourself to look at her. How could you tell her this? How could you tell her you were barely hanging onto life? 

“Y/N,” she whispered. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I can’t,” you insisted, so desperately wanting to melt away and escape this conversation. God, if you hadn’t started crying, this wouldn’t have happened. If you had only been able to contain your racing thoughts.

What were you supposed to say?  _ Oh, yeah, Emily, I’m super fucking tired of existing, so you know what I did? I cut myself. Yeah, I took a blade and I- _

“Y/N, you’re scaring me, honey.”

You snapped out of your panicked daze, glaring into Emily’s soft brown eyes.  _ She’s only here to help _ . So why did this whole thing seem... dangerous?

“I don’t know what to say, Emily.” 

She nodded, clearly expecting you to have no response. There are some feelings that cannot be described. They’re complex, woven together by years of experience and memories and secrets. 

“I don’t have any words for it. I mean, I do, I have so much to say, but it doesn’t make sense, I don’t know what I’m feeling, I don’t know why I do it-” You paused, feeling rapid breaths escaping from your lips. You had messed up, and you both knew it. 

“Calm down,” Emily pleaded as she squeezed your arms. “You don’t know why you do… what?” 

Shit. You could have left that out of the conversation, maybe you could have gotten away with telling her you were depressed, or that you suffered from terrible anxiety, which you did, but you’d slipped up. 

“I don’t know why I…” you faltered. “I don’t know.”  _ I don’t know what _ you say when you  _ do _ know, but I don't want to say it. Any profiler knew that. Hell, anyone with some knowledge of the human mind knew that.

Emily moved her hands from your shoulder, slowly shifting, touching your clenched fists. You flinched as she neared your forearms, resulting in the formation of a silent question on her face. She studied you for a moment before the realization of  _ why _ you were afraid when she neared the hem of your sleeves crossed her face. 

“Oh, oh, sweetie,” she whispered, her voice quiet, almost... scared. Scared that her assumptions were right. Scared of what you were doing to yourself. 

You jerked your arms back, pressing them defensively to your chest. She reached out for your hand again. “Let me see, Y/N.” 

You tearfully nodded as her hand brushed your fist again, slowly uncurling your fingers. She moved to your sleeves, gripping the hem on your left arm gently. “It’s okay,” she coaxed, her calming voice compelling you to listen, no matter how much you wanted to run. “It’s alright. Let me look.” 

You extended your arm slightly, leaving room for her to push your sleeve towards your elbow. You glanced down at the barcode marks, some thin white scars, red lines, scabs covering some of the freshest cuts. Emily held your arm, studying the self-inflicted damage. 

“Y/N,” she started, her voice hitching slightly... not with anger or resent but... understanding. “You could have told me, you could have talked to me.” 

“I know, it’s just, I-” 

“Look,” she said, slowly drawing your sleeve back down. “I know you’re hurting and I know it sucks, and I know you feel like you’re alone, but you’re not, okay? You are not alone right now, and you never will be.” 

You wanted to be nice. You really did. You wanted to hug Emily and say  _ thank you. Thank you for not hating me. Thank you for not guilting me out of my actions _ . But you didn’t. Instead, you crossed your arms and said, “you don’t know what it’s like.”

For a moment, hurt flashed through Emily’s eyes before they softened again. “I do. I do know what it’s like, Y/N, and it’s been a really long time since I felt that all-consuming emptiness, but I still remember it. I remember hurting so bad that I did the same thing you did, hoping someone would notice, but they never did because I held them in until it was almost too much. So, please, talk to me, god, scream if you need to, hit something, cry, I don’t know- I don’t care. Just… just don’t do this alone, okay?”

You watched her, processing that yes, this was  _ empathy _ , and not just  _ sympathy _ . She understood. She actually understood. “Okay,” you agreed, still studying the profiler before you. If she had hidden her emotions then, she was doing a darn good job now. “Emily…” 

“Yeah?” 

“How did you make it stop?” you asked softly. “How did you… make the emptiness go away? I want to  _ feel  _ something, you know? I don’t care if it’s pain, it’s better than nothing. It’s better than crying.” It felt so weird to be admitting that. JJ knew you hurt yourself, but she didn’t know  _ why _ . You doubted she’d understand anyways. 

Emily squeezed your shoulder, pressing her lips together in a thin frown. “I know. I know it seems to help in that moment of desperation when the only thing you want is to feel, but it’s not worth it.” 

“So tell me,” you croaked, your voice cracking, “what to do instead?” 

“Call me,” she pleaded. “Anytime. I will answer my phone and I will talk to you until you feel better, and if I have to, I will drive over there and sit with you, okay?” 

You nodded, slowly. “But what if… what if I can’t do it? What if I can’t call you?” 

“Text me. Text JJ, she knows, right?” It was a suggestion, a plea even, you knew that, but sometimes it was just hard to reach out because you didn’t want to burden more people. 

“Yes,” you admitted. “She knows and now she’s acting like my mom.” 

Emily rolled her eyes. “Well, she’s trying to be there for you, and so I am. If you want to do something so badly that you can’t call me, text somebody, please? You have to let somebody know. That’s the only way we can help you.”

“I know-”

“There’s nothing we can do after it happens. You can’t call us if you’re unconscious on the bathroom floor, so you better call someone the minute you feel like you could hurt yourself, okay? Do not hesitate to pick up that phone, promise me that?” 

“I- I promise.” Promises. They broke as easily as secrets broke you. 

“Do you know what I did?” Emily asked. “Back in Italy when I was 15, I- I tried to… end it.” 

You felt your heart jump at her admission. “What?” You knew Emily was a damaged person, but you never would have guessed that she’d been... suicidal.

“It got to a point where I knew I had to get better because I didn’t want people to know I was hurting, you understand that?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“I would leave my house. I would get away from anything I could use to hurt myself and I would go find someone, even if they didn’t know I was depressed, and I would talk to them, or go do something, anything, really, to get my mind off it. Can you try that for me?” 

“Yeah. I’ll try that.” You leaned against the wall, wiping your eyes again, offering a small smile to Emily. “I think we should go back out there before they send a search party to find us.” 

“Yeah, I think so, too,” agreed Emily. “And Y/N?” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s going to get better, I promise.” 

It was an empty promise, you knew that, but you also wanted to believe her, but it was at a point where  _ better  _ just didn’t seem possible. Instead of denying it, you smiled thinly and said, “I hope so.” 


End file.
